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Talk:Nova/@comment-24796133-20150102030400/@comment-25065826-20150102191658
I walk into the house after a day of school, contact lenses in pocket after a run home. Gets me away from the evil building quicker. Hannah's home, sitting in the living room by the sound of it. I wander through, dumping my bag somewhere along the way. No homework, for once! 'Hey Mum, what're we eating tonight?' I ask, walking into the living room, slumping on a sofa, looking at Hannah, and seeing she's got her contacts in. That was close. and put the contacts in, facing away from any doors. As the second fits into place, a door opens and Mum walks in. 'Just some pasta', she says, smiling. She has a warm smile. A smile I feel I could tell anything to, and it would just get brighter. I don't need to look to Hannah to see that that is a theory I shouldn't test out. 'Nice', Hannah says, eyes glued to her phone. I see a Nova tab open on it. Mum eyes us both suspiciously, then dismisses whatever though she's got and walks to the kitchen. 'Five minutes 'til food, guys', she sings and sets to laying the table. 'What do we do, Hannah?' I ask. Hannah is 18. With a driving licence under her belt, she's prepared for life. And running from police, if rumour gets out. Speaking of police, there's my Dad. Senior officer. He deals with anything his job throws at him, including people like me and Hannah. So, all the better if the secret stays so. 'Nothing yet! I mean, if we don't say anything, we won't need to do anything. And I seriously advise against telling anyone.' 'Ok', I say. 'Um... Did today give any clue about your powe-' 'Hey kids!' Dad says, bursting through the front door and turning left to come into the living room. He's in full uniform, with a pistol and knife at his waist. South Africa isn't the safest place to be a police officer. 'Dad!', I say, 'How was work?' Hannah shakes her head almost imperceptibly, but I catch it. 'Oh, you know, just the usual. Nova-y stuff, gang stuff, elderly people stuff. Basically, I'm Batman with a slightly different accent.' I smile. ''That was close''. 'DINNER!' Mum hollers, and the stairs creek as Tom runs to the kitchen. He's 9, nosy and immature. Irritating, gets in the way, obnoxious. But you've gotta love him. I stroll in, sitting and smelling the pot of something on the table. It's nice. Everyone seated, Mum serves us with 'casserole, which isn't stew', and Dad starts us on a topic. 'So, you heard the news today?' Of course, he knows the answer - he knows every update the news has every second of the day, and we've all been busy. 'Anything new?', Mum asks, sitting and getting up again to get drinks. 'I can do it, Mum', Hannah and I chorus, but she waves us away. 'Well, Nova. Data stuff - it's a virus. Short term, it'll be dead in a few days or weeks. Affecting who-knows-who, but only giving symptoms to around 1% of affected teenagers/young adults. No one else. And giving it's victims, these teenagers, purple eyes.' We've all heard this from him multiple times, but I can't help but find the topic really interesting. I think everyone does. 'The interesting stuff, even if this seems obvious, is that it's expected that the symptoms, aka bloody superpowers, are long-term. Will last after the virus is dead, and when your generation grow older.' He points at us kids. Although this was almost a given factor, it's still a cool revelation. I'm going to be accompanied by my power, whatever it is, wherever I go. However old I get. Soon enough, dinner is over. After a few hours of TV, I'm off to bed. And, moving around restlessly in my room, nowhere near my bed, I've survived another day.